Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed. No profits made.

A/N: this story is kinda off the beaten path for me. It developed after seeing some argue that if TIVA hasn't happened by now, it never will. I disagree. These are two complex characters who aren't the same people they were when they met eight years ago; they've each been through a lot of major, life altering events, and each has changed several times since they met. They have a tough job, a tougher Boss ... and then there are the Rules.

So for me, the question is whether they'll ever be ready for 'TIVA' at the same time. And even if they are – will everything else still be in the way? Now THAT may be tough.

This takes place post-Somalia, but I'll let you decide how far – probably six to eighteen months would make the most sense. There'll be a few chapters – I'm guessing around four. That probably means at least six.

If you read on, I really would appreciate your comments, good or bad. I've been more comfortable with fluff, but wanted to give this a try – angst without being too over the top about it. If this works for you, or doesn't work, it will help me a lot if you'd let me know. Thanks!

PRETENDING

Tony's date that night had started – and ended – the way all his dates had, lately, whenever he gave dating another shot: he'd meet a new girl, they'd go to a club or to dinner, depending on her age and interests – and not too long after the second set – or dessert – he'd beg off, say he'd gotten a call that he was needed at work. He'd put her in a cab, apologize sincerely – then head for home.

His sanctuary, he'd called it, his retreat, his escape. His man cave. It was even more so now, these past months. He couldn't get up the energy to be upset about it or his dating life, no matter what he told them at work about his 'dry spells.' No matter what, dating or not, Tony DiNozzo, "class clown," was expected to love 'em and leave 'em and to worry if he wasn't doing so, just like always. As far as his co-workers knew, he was the same old Tony. But of course, they hadn't known about his truncated evenings.

This evening, though, he'd been rescued, saved from offering yet another charming lie by an actual call from Gibbs, ordering him to get to the Yard, where they'd meet up to take the truck to Annapolis and a body and scene waiting for them. Tony was mildly disappointed to find that the recent lies felt no less difficult than the truth had tonight; his manufactured excuses had come as easily as this real one did. He should feel even worse that, instead of irritation or frustration at being called out after 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday night, in the middle of an ice cream sundae with a rather fetching paralegal, he felt relief. Sure, it was Saturday night, and sure, he felt exhaustion beyond reason, keeping up appearances at work, but he'd be with the team, doing what was familiar and what he did well, with people he considered family and with whom he'd rather spend time than nearly anyone else.

Oh yeah? And when did you start to prefer work over sex, Very Special Agent DiNozzo?

That wasn't it, he told himself, driving into the nearly deserted parking lot. It wasn't true, no matter how the past months had gone. Less and less willing to lie to himself, he'd begun to face facts: his disinterest in dating, in the beautiful dental hygienist and veterinarian and pilates instructor he'd sent home and sent packing, might have rattled him at one time, but things change – he'd changed. At least, he wasn't worried that he'd lost his edge or his eye or his libido; he knew better. The only thing he'd lost was the energy to play the game anymore.

– not after Africa.

And not after Israel. Not after Rivkin. Not after seeing the rage in his partner's eyes, rage he still couldn't be sure, even after all this time, was really gone; rage directed at him but meant for all the men she'd let in, only to be used and hurt. Not after losing her. Not after having her resurrected before him, beaten and abandoned, but alive again after she'd drowned.

Not after seeing her returned to the States, but not fully returned to herself.

The game was never the same after that; things were never the same after that. It changed daily, hourly; things swung from his having a partner who came to him expressing humility and gratitude for her escape at his hand, to having a partner who was dismissive, even scornful of him, and ready for candlelight and silk sheets with men they'd never met, to everything in between. But no matter which Ziva appeared for the day, it was she who filled his thoughts, on duty or off, leaving no room for the dental hygienists and veterinarians and pilates instructors of the world. No matter how beautiful the other woman might be, Ziva was the only woman who intrigued him; no matter how intelligent and savvy and interesting their conversation, he found himself bored and distracted with any female who wasn't Ziva.

So he welcomed work, because Ziva was there too, and good days or bad, they'd have some time together. He'd get her back. If times were tough for her, he could be there, if she'd let him. When work was done, he felt little interest in playing the field. He'd done plenty of that, before – before he'd met Ziva, before he'd met Jeanne and let himself pretend a little too deeply, in his role as Tony DiNardo, to pretend he wasn't a very special agent who was falling for his partner ... before all the rest of it went to hell. Several times.

For a while he tried telling himself his feelings for Ziva developed because his work had been his life for too long now, and none of those other women could understand that. He would always remember when, after a bad case, he could show up a Ziva's door with a movie and a six pack or a bottle of wine, in those complicated days without Gibbs and his Rules; they would watch the movie and talk or not talk, but either way, she would understand. He would understand, when she needed him to. They lives they led were mired in the worst of human behavior, full of physical risk. There was no way a dental hygienist or a veterinarian or a pilates instructor would ever relate to that, and there were moments now when Tony thought that was all he wanted after hours – to be with someone who got it...

"Hey, Agent DiNozzo. Called up again, I guess, huh? Agent Gibbs got here about ten minutes ago."

"Can't tug on Superman's cape, Portman," Tony quipped as he pulled out his ID, not even sure himself what that meant. "What with the superpowers, he can either fly here or just run really fast. I'm never sure how he picks which way to travel."

"Yeah. That's a good one, Agent DiNozzo," the older guard chuckled as Tony passed his card through the security scanner. "You and the team be careful tonight, y'hear?"

"Will do."

'Someone,' he reminded himself where he'd left off in his inner monologue. Riiight. He'd been in denial for months, even after he knew it was bullshit, given his thoughts and reactions every time he tried dating – and every time she did. He wasn't looking for just any old 'someone' who understood, although he'd tried a couple dates with Paula and even Andrea Sparr from Metro. If all he wanted was downtime around someone who got it, he'd end up in Gibbs' basement a lot more often than he did. However and whyever it happened, Ziva had wormed her way into his thoughts to the point where any woman he dated, or met, or even just ogled, was thrown into competition with her, and never, ever made the cut.

'Winner and still champion, Ziva David!'

...and wasn't that just dandy?

The elevator doors opened to the darkened squadroom. There was a cup of steaming coffee on Gibbs' desk, but the man nowhere on the floor. MTAC, maybe. Tony told himself if he didn't appear in another few minutes, he'd try upstairs. Meantime, he'd check the truck to be sure it was gassed and ready to go.

He was just passing the elevator on his way to the stairs when the doors opened and Ziva stepped out. She looked much more alert and energetic than he felt– interrupted early from her own night of clubbing, maybe? He knew that she wouldn't have been drinking, since they were on call, so no tell-tale scent of alcohol would give her away, and the days of smoky clubs were past. He'd never know unless she told them what she'd been doing, and it was still hard to know ahead of time which Ziva would appear – secretive ninja? Chatty tease? After his evening spent brooding, he just didn't have the energy to roll with her punches at the moment, so waved briefly and said, "gonna check the truck..."

"Got it covered, DiNozzo."Of course, true to form, Gibbs suddenly appeared from around the corner, heading back toward his coffee. "Called ahead and had it gassed up for us."

"What we got, Boss?" DiNozzo pivoted automatically to follow Gibbs toward his desk.

"Midshipman found dead on the quad. Where's McGee?"

"On his way. I can wait for him and bring the truck, Boss, if you and Ziva want to get started."

Tony thought Gibbs hesitated only briefly, his eyes narrowing at the suggestion – not so out of the ordinary that he should have been suspicious, he reasoned, but there was something that caught Gibbs' ear. "You covering for McGee or somethin,' DiNozzo?"

"If I am I don't know what for." He managed a grin. "I just figured there's no reason to wait, if we're taking two vehicles."

As if on cue, the elevator dinged again, and Ziva glanced toward it and back to the men. "Not even for McGee, either." They all moved toward the elevator doors before they'd even retracted, crowding in with McGee to ride it back down as he murmured an apology for arriving last.

Tony stared ahead at the metal doors, stretching his neck a bit to get the kinks out and keeping his thoughts away from Ziva by concentrating on what they'd find at Annapolis, running through his memory of the school's layout and what he recalled from their last trip to the campus. Usually, it was enough, focusing on the case. It was enough, when she was focused on the job, too, to be nearly, to be handy for her if Ziva was in the mood to chat or to have a laugh – her days of looking for a target to vent her rage weren't gone, but at least they were waning. He would steadfastly believe it was a sign she was healing. Still healing.

"Gibbs, I will ride with you anyway," Ziva began imperiously. Tony knew without looking that she was working up to a jab; he knew the sounds of her teasing and her lighthearted mood. "I am sure that Tony will wish to brag to McGee about tonight's conquest."

"Maybe I want to brag to Gibbs about tonight's conquest, Zee-vah," he parried, knowing the fastest way to end to the conversation.

"The hell you will, DiNozzo."

He wasn't the senior field agent for nothin.' Gibbs and Ziva took the Charger. Tim and Tony followed with the truck.

...to be continued...